For the former world has passed away...
by madelinear
Summary: CHAPTER 7!!! *waves white flag* Please, put down your torches and pitchforks! I updated, I updated! After the end of the movie, what happens to Christian. Don\'t read if you haven\'t seen the movie, it\'ll ruin it for you, honest. Please R&R!!!!
1. Sparkle Once

These characters are property of whoever made the movie '_Moulin Rouge!_'. That is not me. Trust me, if I owned it, I don't know if it would've ended the same. Mah rajah my butt. I get no money off this, only immense pleasure because I have no life. If you haven't seen the movie '_Moulin Rouge!_' I suggest you skedaddle, because I write from AFTER the movie.  
  
Enjoy!  
  
  
  
13-year-old Christine De Printemps stood at the window, staring up and out, slowly, drying dishes.  
  
"But why, _Maman_? Why isn't he happy anymore?"  
  
Christine's mother sighed. "Because, _ma chou_, the Bohemians never live again."  
  
"Again after what, _Maman_?"  
  
"After anything, _ma poupée_."  
  
Christine exhaled loudly. "But, _Maman_, that is so sad."  
  
Her mother rolled her eyes and handed her another dish. "Sad, yes. The very existence of the Bohemians is sad."  
  
Christine looked at her, shocked, holding the dripping, soapy plate. "But, _Maman_, Papa says that we are _des bohemes, aussi, commes lui_!"  
  
The older woman sighed. "We are not bohemians like him, _cherie_. He is the kind that is doomed for unhappiness."  
  
"But why, _Maman_?"  
  
"Don't ask about things you don't understand."  
  
Christine looked out the window again. "But if I don't ask, how can I understand?"  
  
Her mother was suddenly weary of her daughter. "Christine! Get ready for bed!"  
  
"But, _Maman_-"  
  
"Christine, I said now!" Depressed, Christine bowed her head.  
  
"Yes, _Maman_." she said. As she started down the hall, she turned. "_Maman_?" she called.  
  
There was a sigh. "Yes, Christine?"  
  
"Will you tell me a story first?' came the hopeful request. Another sigh.  
  
"If you insist. But only if you're ready in 15 minutes."  
  
10 minutes later, Christine lay in her small little bed, sheets gathered to her chin. Her mother walked in.  
  
"Did you finish your chores?"  
  
"Yes, _Maman_."  
  
"Did you wash your face?"  
  
"Yes, _Maman_."  
  
"Kiss your Papa goodnight?"  
  
"Yes, _Maman_."  
  
"Very well. What story would you like to hear?"  
  
"The one from the book!" cried Christine, pointing to the small red book on her nightstand.  
  
Her mother groaned. "Not that one again."  
  
"Please, _Maman_?"  
  
Another sigh. "Alright." she said, picking up the book and opening it. She cleared her throat as if to start, but then she looked up. "Christine, do I really have to? You know the story by heart."  
  
"I know I do," she said, snuggling down into her sheets. "I want to hear it again."  
  
The mother sighed. "Alright. But only the first few lines. After that, it's straight to sleep." she cleared her throat, and started with her slightly french accent.   
  
Christine sighed dramatically.  
  
Christine's mother continued monotonously, until she abruptly stopped and said goodnight.  
  
"Oh, but, _Maman_," she cried. "You can't stop there!"  
  
"I can't? And why not?"  
  
"Oh, _Maman_, you must continue! You must!" Christine's mother motioned to the book.  
  
"Christine, this book is long. You must get to sleep, _mon chére_."  
  
"Then you tell me the story, _Maman_."  
  
"Christine..."  
  
"Please, _Maman_? Please?"  
  
A sigh. "Alright. Once there was a writer."  
  
"A very poor writer."  
  
"Yes, Christine. A very poor writer. And he came to Montmartre-"  
  
"Because his parents didn't want him to write."  
  
"Do you want me to tell you this or not?" asked her mother, upset.  
  
"Ooh, go on." said Christine, instantly repentant.  
  
"He came here, and through a very complicated net of lies and trickery-"  
  
"_Maman_, you know that is not so."  
  
"Christine..." she said warningly. Christine snapped her mouth shut. "And through a very complicated net of lies and trickery, he became involved with a group of not-very-respectable people."  
  
"_Maman_."  
  
"Christine." Christine sighed, backing down. "And with them, he met another group of even worse company." Christine said nothing, just glared. "People who worked in the infamous _Moulin_."  
  
Christine sighed and sat up. "_Maman, ça n'est pas le nom de l'establishement_! _C'est le Moulin Rouge_!"  
  
"Yes, _ma petite_. _Le Moulin Rouge_. It was there he fell in love with the star of the _Moulin Rouge_- _Le diamant étincelé_."  
  
"The Sparkling Diamond."  
  
"_Oui, ma chére_. But their love was not to be. A dark shadow cast over their love... something even more powerful than their love."  
  
"_Le pauvre écrivain_."  
  
"Yes... and _le pauvre Diamant_. Not long afterwards, _le Diamant brillé mouri_."  
  
"This is a terrible story, _Maman_."  
  
_"Oui, mon chou._ And the poor writer was never the same. But to immortalize his love, he wrote their story and told the world about them. That story you   
have just heard. Goodnight."  
  
Christine's mother blew out the candle and kissed her cheek. She was standing in the doorway when Christine called out: "_Maman_?"  
  
"_Oui, ma poupée_?"  
  
"What were their names?"  
  
The mother paused, studying her daughter in the dim light.  
  
"_Les noms des deux sont Christian et Satine. Bon nuit, ma chére._"  
  
The door was shut, leaving Christine in the darkness. She pulled her sheets closer and snuggled down.  
  
"Christian and Satine..." she said as she drifted off to sleep, with visions of dancers and writers in her head.  



	2. Spirit

_Tell our story, Christian. That way, I'll always be with you._  
  
Christian kissed the binding of the book. The book was his heart, his soul, his very essence.  
  
This was the very first copy made of his story, which was now a Bohemian staple. People who could barely afford dinner scrimped a saved to be able to buy a copy. In order to truly belong to the Bohemian Revolution, you should at least be able to recite the first three chapters of the book by heart. It was considered the very essence of the principles of the Revolution, embodying truth, beauty, freedom, and love.  
  
The book itself was beautiful. A hard black cover with red binding, the title written in gold with his name below. In the bottom corner of the front cover was a small gold windmill.  
  
The book was a hit. It had made Christian a mint. He looked around at what had once been his bare hotel room, now lavishly furnished. Though he could've bought himself an apartment or at least found a room in a nicer hotel, he stubbornly remained in 'Hôtel Meublé'.  
  
The scampering of tiny feet got his attention. He leaned out his window, peering in the direction of the Moulin Rouge.  
  
The nightclub lay broken and bandonned. The once majestic elephant still stood without care, turning it into a rubble of broken glass and shattered dreams. Ziedler never could bring himself to place another one of his diamonds in there, and the elephant stood there, as a dilapidated, mute testimony to the lovely Satine.  
  
Satine.  
  
_Satine_.  
  
Shaking his head before the enemy thought made it any farther into his hardened heart, Christian turned his attention to two 'Children of the Revolution': children living in absinthe-flooded hovels with 'creatively inclined' parents.  
  
A small boy and girl were going towards the elephant: the little girl young, with golden brown wisps flying about and a tattered blue dress; the boy with darker hair and in torn brown pants and a stained white shirt, maybe a year or two older than the girl.  
  
Christian sighed; as this was not an uncommon sight. He was used to seeing the beloved elephant fall victim to piracy. Often was the prized elephant ransacked by child thieves hoping to find a trace of grace in the stately creation to sell. And as all the children in Montmartre, they were raised thinking that the elephant was haunted.  
  
The little girl stopped a few feet from the entrance, shaking her head.  
  
"_J'ai peur_!" She cried pitifully. Christian smiled slightly, poor little thing was still innocent enough to feel fear; unlike most habitants of the Godforsaken Montmartre.  
  
The boy looked at her scornfully from his fearless stance in the doorway, calling back to her in French that she was a baby and a coward, and if she didn't come, he'd leave her and let the ghosts get her.  
  
With a shrill cry, the little girl ran inside.  
  
Christian chuckled softly, and watched the elephant a little longer, imagining it in its former splendor...  
  
¤*~*¤  
  
_'Love is a many splendored thing, Love lifts us up where we belong, all you need is love!'  
  
'Please, don't start that again'  
  
'All you need is love...'  
  
'A girl has got to eat!'  
  
'...All you need is love...'  
  
'She'll end up on the street!'  
  
'...All you need is loooooooooooove-'  
  
'Love is just a game.'  
  
¤*~*¤_  
  
Another cry stopped his dream as the little girl stood on the roof of the elephant.  
  
"_L'âme_!_ L'âme_!" she cried, shaking. The boy soon joined her, asking her what she had seen.  
  
The spirit, was all she said, the spirit. The boy slapped her with scorn, and dragged her down the stairs. While they were out of Christian's sight, he heard another scream, and out ran both children, both crying: "_L'âme_!_ L'âme_!"  
  
The both ran away and down the street, bringing out housewives and drunks, who looked in wonder at the still elephant, scratched their heads, and went back to whatever they were doing.  
  
Christian looked down the street after the children.   
  
The spirit. The spirit.   
  
Sighing once more, he pulled his hat over his head and picked up his carpet bag. At the request of his meek mother, his father was allowing him to come home. While pride still flowed strong in Christian's veins, he felt a need to see his mother, his two wild brothers and his baby sister, not to mention finger the keys of his cherished piano as he played worn sheets of Bach and Mozart in the music room and listen to the soft ring of his mother's voice. He wanted to see his home.   
  
He walked down the stairs, murmuring a polite 'Bonjour' to the owner of the hotel, then at the desk when he tipped his hat accompanied by a 'Bon matin' to the owner's wife.  
  
He stopped at the florist, buying a large bouquet of blood red roses. He walked to the park, walking hurriedly through the winding paths. In the very heart of the garden, he put down the flowers reverently, lovingly whispering his good-byes.  
  
He walked to one of the more respectable streets in Montmartre-not that was saying much, waiting for a taxi to come by. Christian waited, choosing to ignore that some of the normal streetwalkers were starting early, and that the man drunkenly drinking in the corner at ten o'clock in the morning.  
  
The taxi came, and Christian directed him to the train station that had brought him there two years before.  
  
He went to the desk, buying himself a ticket to one of the coastal French towns that Christian couldn't pronounce, from where he would take the night ferry. With good luck, he'd be in England by morning, and in London by mid-afternoon. Ignoring the tugging on his heart, Christian took a seat in the crowded waiting area, placing his carpet bag at his feet.  
  
He looked around. A few rows of seats away, a woman was chasing her child, a little boy of about three. She grabbed him, hugged him tight, then smacked him.  
  
A few rows away, a girl in a pale blue dress and a cunning little hat stood arguing heatedly in French with a man who held her by her forearms. The girl struggled away, running until the man caught up to her, spun her around, and kissed her. The girl tried to escape at first, then stopped, kissing him back.  
  
Two old men were playing checkers in the corner, one accusing the other of cheating, that one defending himself hotly.  
  
Checking his watch, and seeing that he still had a good ten minutes before the train started boarding, he let his mind wander.  
  
To a place he didn't believe existed any longer.  
  
To her.  
  
Her.  
  
She represented euphoria, a sort of crystal perfection that touched too often would shatter and break. A part of his life that was over, a happiness now unobtainable. He hardly dared to think her name, with the exception of his book.  
  
Satine.  
  
He conjured an image of her ... her pale, moonlight face; her rich, shining hair, flowing down her back like a torch glowing with hope; her bright, dark blue eyes snapping mischievously partnered with her magnificent smile.  
  
A slow smile, dimmed with pain, spread across his face.  
  
A train's whistle sounded, bringing him out of his reverie. His train was boarding. His train back home.  
  
"Home." He murmured as he boarded the train. "Home."  
  



	3. Stars

The train chugga-chugged lazily towards the small coastal town whose name Christian still could not pronounce, no matter how hard he tried. He'd tried to write... his mind refused to cooperate. He didn't want to write a short story, a novel, poetry- he just didn't feel like writing, period.  
  
He looked out the window of his little cabin. He still didn't know what to call the little compartments of a train. A cabin? A compartment? Whatever it was, he had his own. A large plain spread out before him. Small spring colors dotted the green plain like a painting... blue and pink and yellow and red and white. The sky was bright, clear blue, with two or three fluffy white clouds dotting the background.  
  
Picturesque. That was the perfect word for it. Picturesque. The way the plain's grass gently waved in the wind, the way the flowers danced...  
  
Great, thought Christian. Even when I'm not writing, I think like an author!  
  
He chuckled to himself.   
  
From his bag, he removed a worn book, the cover stained and the pages dog-eared.  
  
He read for a little bit, dozed on and off, and stared out the window for the remainder of the trip, all the while trying his best not to let his aching heart dissolve his resolve to go home, pulling him back to Montmartre. He had gotten used to having a slight ache in his heart... and not one that could be remedied by a tonic or fresh air. One thing could soothe and heal his heart.  
  
One of the principles of his beloved revolution.  
  
The train conductor person began to announce the name of the town where Christian was to get off at. As he gathered his things, he muttered the name to himself, trying to get the proper pronounciation.  
  
He still couldn't get it.  
  
Sighing, he gave it up, putting on his coat and holding the brim of his hat.  
  
The train wheezed into the station, stopping with a lurch that threw Christian crashing into the wall.  
  
"Ow." he muttered.  
  
The conductor once again walked the halls, announcing what town they were in.  
  
Christian joyfully got off the train, and inhaled deeply, hoping to smell the salty aroma of the near-by sea.  
  
He hacked and coughed as he breathed in the train's exhaust.  
  
He walked away from the train and towards the harbor. There was a cool breeze that smelled heavily of the ocean. When he got to the dock, he looked out over the boats and saw the sun sinking into the water with a watercolor sky.  
  
He wandered around, trying to find the ferry that would take him to England.  
  
He looked and looked, and finally, he found a pleasant, plump, pink, white and blue ferry named 'Marie Léanne'.  
  
After showing his papers and his ticket, he boarded the pretty little boat. Lights glowed through the windows invitingly, little children scampering around the decks, some being chased after by harried mothers, but more often by nannies or maids.  
  
He wandered about, finding his room, subconsciously settling himself in, then wandering back to deck as the little ferry pulled away from the dock.  
  
He stood on the dock for a while, studying the sliver of sun still visible over the horizon. Dark was falling. A few stars were just sparkling in the dark sky above, growing paler as they neared the horizon.  
  
Sparkling, he thought. All stars sparkle so brightly. They sparkle for a time. A very long time. They sparkle and brighten the world. And then, suddenly, without warning, the star stops shining, burning brightly then burning out.  
  
Stars.  
  
Stars, sparkling.  
  
Stars, sparkling in the night.  
  
Stars, brightening the dark and dreary night.  
  
Stars sparkle... then fade.  
  
Stars fade.  
  
All stars fade, not just the brightest or the best.  
  
Every star.  
  
Not just the weak ones.  
  
All stars burn out.  
  
Stars- they sparkle.  
  
They sparkle and shine.  
  
Beautiful.  
  
Stars sparkle beautifully.  
  
Stars.  
  
Stars... they shine like diamonds.  
  
Diamonds.  
  
Diamonds sparkle like stars.  
  
All diamonds.  
  
Even sparkling ones.  
  
And then they burn out.  
  
Diamonds.  
  
She was one.  
  
A diamond.  
  
A star.  
  
The North star is a beacon to all those lost.  
  
She was his North Star.  
  
A brightly burning beacon.  
  
The beacon of his soul.  
  
Satine.  
  
A star.  
  
A diamond.  
  
How she sparkled.  
  
And how quickly she burned out.  
  
Leaving him lost.  
  
Without reason or warning, he was left in the dark, his only source of light savagely removed.  
  
Satine.  
  
His Satine.  
  
Gone too soon.  
  
Dark.  
  
Cold.  
  
The night is cold.  
  
A night without stars is cold.  
  
Without stars, the world is dark and bleak.  
  
And so was he.  
  
HIs sky was dark.  
  
No stars to guide.  
  
Dark.  
  
Bleak.  
  
No light.  
  
Stars.  
  
They sparkle... then fade.  
  
Even the ones that are loved.


	4. Silence

It was cold. The stars were gone now, covered up by dark storm clouds humming with electricity.  
  
Quiet.  
  
Utter silence.  
  
Christian didn't like silence.  
  
It reminded him all too clearly of that night.  
  
Involuntarily, he remembered.  
  
_Christian, I'm sorry... I'm dying... I'm so sorry.  
_  
She kept coughing. Awful coughs that racked her body and made her shake. That terrible noise coming from such a beautiful creature frightened Christian.  
  
_I'm cold ... hold me._  
  
He didn't know which was worse ... hearing that horrible sound ... or when it stopped.  
  
_You've got to go on without me, Christian ... you've got so much to give..._  
  
_No_, he'd protested. _Not without you, though_.  
  
_Write our story, Christian. Promise me ...   
  
No.  
  
Yes. Promise- promise me.  
  
No-oh.  
  
Yes. That way, I'll always be with you_.  
  
He'd kept his promise.  
  
And then she'd stopped. That terrible gasping, her pleas ... they stopped. He'd kissed her desperately as her blue eyes committed his face to memory, her soft, delicate hand skimming his cheek.  
  
She didn't say that she loved him. They both knew there was no need. Christian had already seen it in her blue eyes, felt in her touch._  
  
The show must go on._  
  
  
He shook his head, furiously brushing at his eyes, ordering himself to stop thinking about it.  
  
Continue to shake his head at himself, he walked briskly to his room.  
  
He ate dinner alone.  
  
He looked at himself in the mirror when he was done. He felt his beard. He didn't let it grow too long, he just let it cover his face, making him appear older than he was.  
  
His mother wouldn't like it.  
  
Mother's the reason you're going home at all, he reminded himself. And you know Mother won't like this.  
  
Groaning, he took out his razor. He got some water and some soap and started to shave off his beard.  
  
When he'd finished (with only one nick!) he looked at himself. He knew looked boyish and young.  
  
A dim, faraway part of his memory thought: This is how Satine remembers you.  
  
Christian cursed his mind and tried to banish the thought. He'd learned VERY quickly that it only brought heartache to think of her.  
  
It was too late. His mind echoed with the delightful, silver sound of her laughter; he could slightly detect her sweet scent: a mix of her perfume, flowers, face powder, and something that was just Satine.  
  
He shook his head, trying to rid himself of her. It was better if he didn't think, it hurt too much. He'd found that out the hard way.  
  
But it was too late. Like a nickelodeon, his mind played images of Satine.  
  
Defeated, he resorted to the only thing that could stop him. He took out a bottle of absinthe, mentally cursing himself for packing it where he could get it. The last thing he needed was to show up in London wasted, proving that his father right, that Montmartre was a village of sin, forsaken by God and society. Not to mention the fact that his mother would be heartbroken. Brushing that thought aside, he took a sip.  
  
The sweetly sour liquid trickled down his throat and he immediately felt a bit better. Satine's face wavered in his mind. Good, he thought. Make her disappear.  
  
A few sips later he was buzzing. He was all tingly now.  
  
A few sips more and a green light was starting to form, which Christian knew was the beginning of the Green Fairy. In the past two years, she had become Christian's best friend.  
  
But this time, it was not his good friend the Green Fairy. She was wearing what the Green Fairy wore, she glowed like the Green Fairy ... but it didn't have her face.  
  
The Green Fairy was not the Green Fairy.   
  
She was Satine.  
  
Christian shut his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall.  
  
When he opened his eyes, Satine still floated there, hands on her hips, looking at him with that quirk of her eyebrow that Christian still found so charming.  
  
"Tsk tsk tsk. You've adopted Toulouse's habits." she mock-scolded, shaking a finger at him. A brilliant smile spread over her face. Christian over looked the fact that she was green and about the size of his fist.  
  
"Satine?"  
  
"My darling, you're drunk. Go to bed, my love." Christian looked at her. If he went to sleep, this would wear off. Satine would go away. Ironically ignoring the fact that he had began drinking to rid his mind of her, he shook his head.  
  
He stared at the small green fairy Satine for a few minutes. The longer he looked, the fainter she became, until she was gone.  
  
It took him a few hours to realize that Satine never was there. It was the absinthe. He washed himself off and went to bed, knowing full well if his mother saw him with a hangover she'd send him on the next train back to Montmartre and never ask to see him again.  
  
He drifted into a dream world where Satine's voice resonated through out.  
  
~*~  
_  
He was chasing Satine through out the Moulin Rouge, trying to catch her before she went on stage to perform the final act of Spectacular Spectacular. He was running after her, money in his hand. He no longer wanted to give it to her, but he wanted to hold her and forget about everything but her.  
  
She kept running and running.  
  
He called after her, trying to get her to stop.  
  
Finally she ran into the stage.  
  
Christian attempted to reach her, but could not.  
  
She performed, and then...  
  
There was a bright white light and he heard her raspy breathing. Suddenly, all was quiet. No noise came from the people's lips, no music from to orchestra. Christian watched her. Suddenly, he heard a heartbeat. Not his, but Satine's. With each pound, he was closer and closer to Satine. Finally, he was up close with her, with small diamonds of sweat on her forehead.  
  
Then he was very far away as he watched her crumple to the floor.  
  
No one caught her.  
  
He tried to break free of his invisible bindings, but he could not escape.  
  
"Christian..." he heard her whisper before growing limp.  
  
No one paid any attention to her still form, lying amongst the rose petals._  



	5. Smile

A/N's: I don't Christian's last name. Seriously. I've seen the movie 4 times, and not once did they mention his last name. So, in this story, their last name is Andrews.  
  
I don't own these people with the exception of: Christian's Mom, sister and his brothers.  
  
A's/N#2: I have a subconcious image of his Mom as Ava Gabor from 'Green Acres'. Just thought I'd share. :-) SP_  
_

  
  
Inside, my heart is breaking  
My make-up may be flaking  
But my smile still stays on  


  
Christian had woken up, tears on his face, sweating and shaking. Sunlight streamed through his small window.  
  
He shook his head. Dreams were not his friend. Hadn't been in years.  
  
He got up and got dressed. He had a slight headache, nothing an aspirin wouldn't fix, which he took and felt better.  
  
He put everything back in his bag. Finding nothing else to do, be made his bed carefully.  
  
He stood back and looked around at his tidy room.  
  
He then shook his head at himself. Christian, he thought, you're pathetic.  
  
He walked out of his room and onto the deck. He could see the English coast and ports. He smiled at the familiar sights.  
  
He went to the dining room and ordered himself eggs, bacon and toast with some tea. He ate in silence, reading the newspaper he'd bought as he walked into dining room.  
  
When he had finished, he went back to his room and sat on his bed, staring at the floor.  
  
He was bored.  
  
He got up and stood in front of the mirror. He practiced his smile. His mother would ask how he was. Fine, mother, he'd smile. His sister would ask as well. Great, he'd say, a grin gracing his face. His two brothers would ask. I'm doing fine, he'd beam. Smiles were a big part of his family.  
  
About a half an hour later, there was a bugle announcing that they had docked.  
  
Christian sighed with relief and picked up his bag. He got off the boat, into the smaller ferry and then he finally arrived on shore. The powerful smell of fish nearly knocked him over. The fishermen were bringing in their nets of nighttime catches. As he walked away from the port, he was sure he smelled like a sardine cannery.  
  
The train station was not far from the dock, so he walked. This city seemed so welcoming, so homey ... so bourgeois, it was ridiculous. There were no street walkers and no drunkards. He was in the first nice neighborhood he'd been in in two years.  
  
Well, nicer than Montmartre.  
  
He knew his Mother would never set foot in this village ... she'd merely drive through it, averting her eyes and ordering her children to do the same.   
  
Shaking his head, he continued on to the train station.  
  
His train was just pulling in as he bought his ticket, so he got right on. Thirty minutes later, his train was pulling away and he was on his way home.  
  
He was getting oddly nervous: slicking down his hair, dusting off his suit, having his shoes shined...  
  
_Stop this!_ he commanded himself. _This is silly. They're your parents, for God's sake.  
  
Parents who don't accept me._  
  
~*~  
  
"Next stop, London. Next stop, London."  
  
Christian slowly opened his eyes, yawning. The conductor stood in front of him.  
  
"Next stop, London." He said pointedly. Christian nodded.  
  
"Thank you." He said.  
  
Again, the anxiety returned. He started to smooth his hair, smooth down his suit, brush lint off his jacket, straighten his hat.  
  
"Relax." He told himself firmly.  
  
~*~  
  
The train station was not far from his house, so his taxi ride was short. It was not long until he was standing in front of his home, the large house in the heart of London. He got off and paid the taxi driver and just stood there, staring.  
  
He walked up to the iron gate, feeling the bars. A grin spread over his face. He was home.  
  
He opened the gate and started up the walk to his house.  
  
"Christian?" came a voice. The door opened. "Christian, darling, is it really you?"  
  
Christian smiled and ran up the steps.  
  
"It's me, Mother." He said.  
  
"Oh, darling!" she exclaimed, embracing her son. Christian reveled in his mother's touch. She smelled exactly the same- like tea and flowers. He stepped back and looked at his mother.  
  
"Oh, Mother, you look simply stunning!" he said, not stretching the truth in the least. Lily Andrews did look remarkably young. Her thick blond hair was piled on top of her head, her eyes were bright and her face showed no signs of aging.  
  
A thoughtless hand reached up to pat her hair. "Darling, do you really think so?" Without waiting for an answer, she hurried on. "Darling, come in, come in! Goodness, you must be terribly tired after all this traveling. Marie! Come here and take his coat. Ella! Come take Christian's bag and put it upstairs in his room. Now, dearest," she said, taking his arm, "You must tell me everything. How was your trip?"  
  
~*~  
  
Christian and his mother spent an hour in the parlor catching up. It was no secret that Christian was his mother's favorite, but no one else was home.  
  
"You're father, of course," She rolled her eyes, "Is at work. Gregory and Thomas are at school. And Annette is out taking tea with the Lorshire girls."  
  
Christian smiled politely, like his mother expected him to. Who cared if he was upset that no one cared enough to stay home and greet him? As long as the whole family smiled, all was right.  
  
As she said that, there was a commotion in the hall.  
  
"Christian? Is that you?" came a lyrical voice. Christian instantly was at his feet.  
  
"Annette?" he asked incredulously. In the two years that he'd been gone, his little sister had become a lady.  
  
Her soft brown hair was in ringlets and styled in some elaborate form. Ladies' hairstyles never ceased to amaze Christian. So many and so different. She was wearing a light blue dress in a popular style and her face had lost it's babyish roundness.  
  
Her sister started to run across the room, hoisting her skirts up. She was halfway to laughing Christian when the sharp voice of their mother shot out.  
  
"Ann-ETTE." No voices were ever raised in this house. No one ever screamed. Voices were only made more forceful. Annette stopped, dropping her skirts. She docilely folded her hands behind her and continued across the room in a ladylike fashion.  
  
"Good day, Christian." She said, a smirk playing on her lips.  
  
"Good day, Annette." She threw her arms around his neck and squealed with delight.  
  
"Oh, it's so good to have you home, Christian. This house has been positively ghastly ever since you left." She whispered. Christian smiled and released her.  
  
She sat down on the small loveseat besides her brother. She turned towards him eagerly.  
  
"I wanted to stay home and greet you, but Mother wouldn't let me." She reported, a slight pout in her voice. Christian smiled. Though she looked like a lady, she was still Annette.  
  
"Dearest, I'm sure you had a splendid time with the Lorshires." said Lily smoothly.  
  
Annette rolled her eyes, playing with the lace on a needlepoint pillow decoratively placed on the loveseat.  
  
"The Lorshire girls- you remember, Christie, the twins, Cathy and Lottie- are positively dreadful." She leaned against the back of the couch dramatically. Christian smiled at the use of Annette's childhood nickname for him.  
  
"Misses Catherine and Charlotte Lorshire are lovely company, Christian." Said Lily, making special emphasis on the 'tian', in rebuke to the name 'Christie'.  
  
Annette sniffed haughtily and studied her nails. "Mother, the Lorshires are dull as dishwater and twice as murky. I've had more fun at a sewing circle."  
  
Christian grinned and shook his head. His mother was getting upset, but Annette was a tempestuous child and paid no heed.  
  
"Annette, what have you been up to? Besides getting into trouble, that is." Annette gave him a sickly sweet smile and swatted him with a pillow.  
  
"Ann-ette." Hissed Lily with disdain.  
  
Annette paid no attention.  
  
"Mother's grooming me to be a lady of society, which means that I have no brains, a ridiculous amount of manners and never-ending sewing." She said the last part disdainfully, pointedly looking at her mother, who was effortlessly sewing a pretty needlepoint sampler without looking. "It also means, Christian dear, that I have to spend afternoons with the likes of the Lorshires."  
  
"Annette-" began Lily.  
  
"Annette," Christian said effortlessly, standing up. "Would you care to take a stroll around the gardens? I'd like to see them again."  
  
Annette stood up. "I'd be delighted, Christian." She looked at her mother. "Mother, may I?"  
  
"Yes, you may." She said, not missing a stitch on her sampler. "Remember your parasol."  
  
Christian took his sister's elbow and led her outside. They were both quiet for a few minutes until Christian couldn't bear it any longer.  
  
"Mother's roses are lovely this year."  
  
Annette nodded.  
  
They continued walking silently until Annette looked up at him. "Mother's been lying about you."  
  
He stopped and looked at her. She nodded.  
  
"She's been telling everyone that you were on the Grand Tour with the Van Der Builts. They don't have any children and they're going along with it. Everyone believes her."  
  
"Annie-"  
  
"Yes, I know. It's awful. Mother's lying to protect her pristine reputation. Her son wouldn't dare to go to Paris and become a bohemian. Not _her_ son."  
  
"Annette." He said, looking at her carefully. "I do believe you've grown up while I was away." Annette twirled around, letting her skirts swirl.  
  
"Tell that to Mother. She still thinks I'm her little girl."  
  
"Maybe she's right." He said, tugging on one of her curls.  
  
"CHRISTIAN!!!!!!!" came a loud bellow. Christian turned, shielding his eyes against the sun.  
  
"Gregory!" he called out in return. Gregory ran across the veranda and down the stairs towards his older brother.  
  
Gregory, 18 and in college, stopped a few paces in front of his brother. "Look at you, mate. All fancied up."  
  
"You don't look so bad yourself, little brother." Christian said, clasping hands with his brother.  
  
"And what about me?" asked Annette indignantly. "No one decides to say hello to poor Annie?" Gregory smiled and embraced his sister.  
  
"I'm sorry, old girl. I was so blinded by your beauty that I had to stop and gaze at such perfection."  
  
Annette made a face. "Hush your mouth, you devilish thing."  
  
"Annie!"  
  
"Tommy!" cried Annette in response, standing on tiptoe and waving.  
  
13 year-old Thomas ran down and stopped.  
  
"Hello, Annie, Gregory. Hello, Christian." Christian smiled and shook hands with his youngest brother.  
  
"Hello, Thomas."  
  
Thomas grinned at his brother for a second, then turned to his sister. "Annie, Mother says it's time for you to come in and practice the piano."  
  
Annette groaned and stomped her foot. "Blast that wretched creation!"  
  
"Mother still makes you play." Stated Christian knowingly.  
  
Annette nodded.  
  
Mother," started Gregory, "seems to think that since she can play the piano like an angel, it is inconceivable that any of her female offspring cannot play."  
  
Annette nodded again. "That's basically it." She sighed. "I better get up there. I'll see you later. Tommy, come along with me." Tommy shrugged.  
  
"All right. I'll see you later." The two started off towards the house.  
  
Christian looked towards his tall, handsome younger brother. "So, Gregory, what have you been up to while I've been away?"  
  
"You're a fool, Christian." Spat Gregory. Christian's brow furrowed. Gregory's moods-even when they were children- had always been capricious and had the same disposition as their father's. "Father's written you out of his will."  
  
Christian had expected something like that. He shrugged.  
  
"The will is now divided in fourths. Thomas gets 1/4. Annette gets 1/4 as her dowry for her marriage. And I get half."  
  
"I'm happy for you, Gregory." Christian said slowly.  
  
"You could've had it all, Christian. If you had just gone into the business with Father. Now, look at you." Christian turned to his brother.  
  
"Gregory, I'm doing quite all right, thank you very much." Monetarily speaking. "I'm doing fine in Paris." In the Underworld. "And I do not need to depend on Father's fortune any longer."  
  
Before Gregory could response, a ghastly crashing sound charged out the open window of the music room. Christian looked at his brother. "Annette?" he asked.  
  
Gregory smiled, his good mood having returned. "Either than or a monkey has escaped from the zoo and is now banging on the piano."  
  
Christian smiled and started towards the house.  
  
~*~  
  
"Blast this infernal thing!" cried Annette, pounding on the keys in frustration.  
  
Christian issued a low whistle from his position in the doorframe.  
  
Annette turned. "Christie!" she said. He walked over to her and motioned for her to move over. She did, and he sat next to her.  
  
He positioned his fingers over the keys, looked pointedly at his sister, and began playing.  
  
The music flowed freely from his fingers, free of error and perfectly timed. Annette sat there, staring.  
  
When he had finished, he let the last note linger. He stopped. He felt more relaxed, more calm, than he had in a long time.  
  
Annette gaped at him and whispered reverently: "How do you do that?"  
  
He shrugged. "It's a gift."  
  
Annette pouted. "I wish I had that gift."  
  
He rolled his eyes. "Mother made me practice for hours everyday."  
  
Annette groaned. "Same with me. I'm terrible."  
  
Christian rolled his eyes again. "Come on. You can't be that bad. Come on, play with me."  
  
"I'm warning you, I'm terrible."  
  
Christian played the first few bars of a song. "You know this one?"  
  
Annette nodded. "Yeah."  
  
"Then play with me. Heart and soul..." Annette grinned and sang the next line.  
  
"I fell in love with you..."  
  
"Heart and soul..."  
  
"I fell in love with you..." They continued, Christian overlooking her mistakes and them singing to their hearts' content. When they finished, they were shocked to hear applause.  
  
They turned to see their mother in the doorway.  
  
"If only she would play so well while you were away, Christian." She said, gliding into the room. "That was lovely."  
  
Christian smiled. "Mother, Annette isn't that bad."  
  
Lily sniffed and looked away.  
  
There was a pounding in the hall and suddenly Gregory fell through the doorway, grinning and out of breath. "Supper'll be ready an hour, Mother."   
  
"Father still coming home at quarter after six?" asked Christian amusedly.  
  
Gregory nodded. "You could set a watch by that man."  
  
Lily ascending to standing position and motioning for the rest to do the same.  
  
"I believe it is time to dress for dinner." She murmured. Annette stood up quickly.  
  
"Yes, mother." she said, and followed her out of the room and up the stairs. As she turned, she made a face at Christian, then grinned before disappearing from sight.  
  
Christian and Gregory stood awkwardly in the music room. Gregory said something about getting ready before disappearing as well.  
  
With a sigh, Christian sat down.  
  
This visit was going to be harder than he thought.  
  
~*~  
  
Christian's father was home.  
  
Christian was hiding upstairs in his room, trying to avoid the inevitable confrontation known as 'dinner'. He couldn't avoid it much longer. Sunset was rapidly approaching, as well as the dreaded dinner bell.  
  
He was in a nice suit, his hair all slicked down, nervously pacing his room.  
  
_His_ room.  
  
It was nice to be in there again; everything was exactly the way he had left it. His books littered the room: on a night table, in his bookshelf, still lying on his desk. Everything was so comforting and homelike it managed to overcome the dread of dinner and gave way to a calming, more relaxed frame of mind.  
  
He sat down at his desk and closed his eyes, inhaling in the scent of paper and the leather binding of his books.  
  
Just when he had totally surrendered to a calm state, he was savagely torn from it by an impatient knock.  
  
"Christian!" came a forceful voice. No scream- just forcefully speaking. "Christian!" It was Thomas.  
  
Christian stood up.  
  
"Come in!" he called. The door opened.  
  
"Mother sent me to fetch you for dinner." was all he said before disappearing. Christian sighed.  
  
Was he never to be able to actually speak to his brothers?  
  
~*~  
  
_Can I please die now?!?!?!?!?!_ Christian pleaded to upper Bohemian deities.  
  
Dinner was insufferable.  
  
Everything was quiet. No one said anything. And when they did, it was only to hear every last detail about his father's day.  
  
Jeremy Andrews was what was called '_un noveau riche_'. He had grown up in the backstreets of London, knowing next to nothing. He had started at the lowest job at a metal factory. Working his way up, he then came to own it. He had made all his money in the metal industry and the stock market. And he was dead-set against any inkling of the that any of his family to go back to his previous way of life.  
  
For Jeremy Andrews, it was purely inconceivable to him that any member of his family would want anything in this world other than wealth, an upstanding social status and an equally upstanding spouse.  
  
Gregory was everything a son should be. Thomas was young, eager to please and easily led. Annette was a headstrong girl, but she was pretty and could be married and off his hands easily.  
  
Christian had always been different.  
  
He wanted different things. He was smart and did well in school, but didn't like the structure. To rigid, he protested.   
  
Christian was a dreamer.  
  
His mother found it an endearing quality, but to his father, nothing was more maddening. His first son, the one that was supposed to follow in his footsteps, preferred poetry to the news!  
  
Needless to say, when Gregory turned to be an exact replica of himself, Jeremy could not have been more pleased. Abandoning his project to turn Christian to the business world, he turned to Gregory, an eager student.  
  
To Christian, this world of business was boring. Boring, boring, boring. His father was boring. His business was boring. His colleagues were boring. When his father wanted him to become his partner, he balked. That life was boring and rigid. He couldn't- wouldn't- stand it. When stated this to his father, Jeremy was furious.  
  
"Is the house you live boring? Is the food you eat boring? If not for this boredom, as you so pridefully call it, you would be living on the streets! You will learn to like it, do you hear me?"  
  
It was then Christian found an alternative.  
  
  
Christian snapped out of his thoughts. His father was still droning on and on. His mother sat, her pose saying that she was attentive, but her eyes were glazed and Christian knew she was probably wondering when her dressmaker would have her next dress ready. Gregory sat, listening. Contrary to his mother, he was interested. Thomas- who Christian knew had no real taste for business- sat, trying to force himself to be interested. Annette seemed to be the only playing to her feelings- she was tapping her foot under the table and humming quietly. His father found no use for 'empty-headed girls' and rarely spoke to Annette. He spoke very highly of her in public, praising her beauty and her voice and her ability to play the harp. He even managed to be made aware of her progress with her tutor to brag about it. But at home, it was a rare moment that he actually acknowledged his daughter.  
  
Christian was doing what he used to do when he was a child. Looked across the table, straight ahead, at Annette's forehead, tuned out all noise, and thought.  
  
He wondered if every family was as vapid as this.  
  
He then became aware that his father had stopped talking and his mother was speaking- to him.  
  
"I beg your pardon?" he asked.  
  
"A party, darling. To celebrate your home-coming."  
  
He shook his head quickly. "Oh, Mother, that's not necessary-"  
  
"Don't be silly, darling. Of course it is."  
  
Lily then started going on about who to invite, who had just returned, who was promised to who- and that she would have to invite who she referred to as 'The Cousins'.   
  
Annette's eyes widened at those words and she looked shocked as she turned to Christian.  
  
His mother was talking very quickly, and then she turned quickly to her son, a beaming smile on her face. "-and we'll get the cook on it right away. Oh, darling, you'll love it!"  
  
Christian was trapped.  
  
And then he realized he had to do what was expected of him. He couldn't run. He couldn't hide. He had to accept his fate with grace and culture.  
  
With that, he did the only thing his mother would accept.  
  
He plastered a giant grin on his face and nodded.  
  
A's/N#3: How many of you are still reading this? I'm sorry I haven't updated sooner! It took me forever to do fabricate his family and stuff.  
  
Teaser: Next chap: The preparation for the party, more on 'The Cousins' and will Annette be able to pry some info out of Christian?


	6. Society

Disclaimer: No, they don't belong to me. *sob* The pain.  
Claimer: Annette, Lily, Gregory, Thomas, Polly, Jenny, etc. are mine. If you want 'em, ask me. I'll most likely give 'em up.  
Author's note: *waves white flag* Wow... it's been months. No one reading this, are they? *pout*  
  
  
The party, his mother decided, was to be the biggest and most memorable of the year. Society would speak of it for months to come, at least until her Winter Social.  
  
Christian smiled and nodded politely whenever his mother would ask his opinion on something. Generally she only asked about the little things that he didn't care about: what color theme to use, what flowers to use as centerpieces, what food to serve, what punch to serve. On important things, such as whether or not he wanted a party, no one asked for his ideas.  
  
He went along, as he always did when family was involved (excluding the incident with his father)- politely agreeing to whatever they said.  
  
Annette was helping her mother plan the party. Both women planned day and night, thinking of nothing but 'The Party'. Christian could just imagine how both females said it with capital letters in their minds.  
  
He finally managed to yank Annette away from her planning. He pulled her into the empty study.  
  
"Christian, what are you doing? I have to go and run to the florist to get the samples for the centerpieces-"  
  
Annette was silenced when Christian put a hand over her lips. "Be quiet, Annette."  
  
Annette was quieted.  
  
"I need to talk to you."  
  
Annette wandered away to a leather chair and flounced into it. "About what?"  
  
"About all of this. About the party. Annie- I don't want the party."  
  
Annette looked up sharply. "Don't want it?" she asked in surprise. "Why ever not?"  
  
"Annie, you know parties aren't my thing."  
  
"Well," she said pointedly. "Why didn't you tell Mother that before she got into such a tizzy about it?"  
  
"Mother was 'in a tizzy', as you say, the minute the words were out of her mouth."  
  
"Christie, you could've said no."  
  
Christian shook his head forlornly. "No, I couldn't have."  
  
Annette seemed impatient. "Why not? Christian, you're not seven years old anymore! If you don't like something, just tell her."  
  
"Mother seems so excited about it... how could I say no? It'd break her heart."  
  
Annette laughed. "Mama's not a china doll. She doesn't break that easily."  
  
"Annie, dear, you're not helping."  
  
Annette stood up. "Is that it? Because I have to go get the samples for Mother-"  
  
"Sit down, Annette." Christian said without looking up. Surprised, Annette sat down immediately.  
  
"Who are these people you keep talking about- the cousins or something like that..."  
  
Annette's eyes grew wide. "Oh, darling, you really _are_ out of the loop! Darling, they are _only_ the two most important debutantes of the year! They are positively stunning, and they're cousins. So naturally everyone wants to marry into such a family. They are the most sought after for wives of all of London society."  
  
"Names?" asked Christian dully. He'd heard this all before. His family was a model example of society, and his mother was hoping for a match. That was the true motive behind the party, he knew.  
  
But Annette was talking now. "The younger one is named Jennifer Hartsdale. The elder one is named Polly Wintershine."  
  
The name throbbed in Christian's ears:   
  
_Polly Wintershine Polly Wintershine Polly Wintershine Polly Wintershine_.  
  
But again, Christian couldn't dwell- Annette was speaking. "Positively lovely girls. Can't stand one another. They used to be the best of friends and now they are most bitter of rivals." Annette dropped her voice to a whisper. "Both are the most stunningly gorgeous girls you could ever see. I'm jealous of them both."  
  
"What are they like?" Christian, a true author, had fallen in love with the name: Polly Wintershine. It was so poetic- like a crisp winter morning when the sun shone off the snow, with a tree with icicles hanging off the bare branches with two initials carved in it: S+C= ...  
  
But Annette was talking. Still. Christian forced himself to listen.  
  
"Jenny is sweet as anything- the nicest girl you'd ever hope to meet. And Polly- well, nobody really knows anything about Polly except the fact that she hates her cousin and that's she's beautiful."  
  
"And why is that?" asked Christian. Annette lowered her voice even more.  
  
"Polly isn't a very nice girl- so I've heard."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Well, _everyone's_ heard rumors about her. And _everyone_ believes them. The only thing that's ever kept her in society- and this is the strangest part- is the fact that Jenny always clears her name!"  
  
"The cousin that she can't stand clears her name?" Christian asked in wonder. Annette nodded.   
  
"Uh-huh. It's sooooooo mysterious."  
  
"Annette? Annet-te? Where are you, dear?" It was Lily. She glided into the room.  
  
"Darling, did you get the flowers?"  
  
"No, Mother, I was talking to Christian."  
  
"Darling, I need those flowers by tonight. Go straight away and don't dawdle."  
  
"Yes, Mother." Annette stood up and passed by the two of them. Lily pinched her cheek.   
  
"Such a good girl. Now, don't dilly-dally!" laughing, she turned to Christian. "Darling, what's the matter?"  
  
Christian shook his head. "Nothing, Mother. Nothing at all."  
  
_Nothing ever was in that house._  
  
~*~  
  
After dinner that night, Christian found himself wandering around the house aimlessly. Out to the veranda, through the parlor, into the library. In a trance, he wandered into the study.  
  
He froze when he saw his father and mother in there, talking. Christian backed out slowly, but still stood in the doorway. He had been possessed by some strange devil and could not seem to move.  
  
"Honestly, Jeremy, he's been here for two days and you've hardly spoken a word to him!" He heard his mother exclaim. The words were punctuated with a stomp of her small foot.  
  
"Lily," said Jeremy through clenched teeth, "I'll handle it, _dear_." The word 'dear' was spoken with a deadly venom, daring her to go on.  
  
Lily missed the warning signs and proceeded. "But Jeremy-"  
  
"LILLIAN!" growled Jeremy. "I told you I would handle it!"  
  
Lily made a whimpering sound that Christian thought meant that she had backed down. A minute later he was proven wrong. "He's your son, Jeremy."   
  
There was a sharp crack of a book being closed- or what Christian sincerely hoped was a book being closed. The next voice was dangerously quiet and calm. "I told you, _darling_, **I will handle it**."  
  
With that, Christian slunk away from the door and retreated into his room.  
  
While the Bohemians that Christian was accustomed too showed their feelings, the Bourgeois did not believe in showing what they felt.  
  
While the Bourgeois said the Bohemians were dangerous, Christian knew otherwise.  
  
_It's the Bourgeois who are dangerous_, he realized, pressing his back into his door, blockading himself against society. _You always know what the Bohemians are thinking. With the Bourgeois, you never know._  
  
~*~  
  
"Salmon canapés." said Annette with absolute certainty. "Definitely the canapés."  
  
"But, dearest, at the Jamison party last month they served that delectable caviar from- where was it from? Russia? Where ever it was from, it was delightful."  
  
"But, Mama, the canapés are splendid and everyone loves them. Not everyone can tolerate caviar."  
  
The two looked up expectantly at Christian. "Christian, dear, what do _you_ think?" asked his mother pointedly. Christian gave a nervous smile.   
  
"Well, Mother, I don't think I'm qualified to answer this question..." he said, not sure of what he was saying despite the realization that he was trying to avoid answering it.  
  
"Stop the stalling and answer the question, Christian: canapés or caviar?"  
  
Christian was doomed to respond to this question. "Caviar?" he said meekly.  
  
The two women looked at one another.  
  
"Canapés." They said in unison, before leaning over the guest list. They were scrutinizing the list for the millionth time that day.  
  
"I think I'm going to take a walk." Christian announced.  
  
Both were busy; Annette was pointing to something on the list and Lily was hurriedly scribbling some names along the bottom.  
  
Christian cleared his throat. "I said, I'm going to take a walk."  
  
Neither bothered to look up.  
  
"Don't be gone for too long, dear." said Lily absent-mindedly.  
  
Christian rolled his eyes and escaped.  
  
The fresh air did him some good, walking along familiar streets made him feel better then he had in a while.  
  
He wandered aimlessly, not knowing exactly where he was going. He was surprised when he ended up in Harrington park, the park he'd played at when he was child.  
  
He walked around the winding paths, passing children merrily calling to one another, flying kites and playing with dolls, pushing miniature trams and cradling stuffed toys.  
  
He looked up at the sky. It was bright blue that barely looked real, with small white clouds.  
  
He sighed aloud.  
  
"Beautiful, isn't it?" came a voice.  
  
Christian snapped out of his trance and looked to where the voice had come from.  
  
A girl maybe a year or two older than Annette stood there, smiling.  
  
"Yes, it is." he said uncertainly, not knowing what to make of such a girl. While this would have been a normal occurrence in Montmartre, this was quite odd for London.  
  
The girl was striking beautiful. Her hair was shiny raven black, left blowing in the breeze- another oddity for London.  
  
Her eyes were a pale, pale blue, frightening pale, with slanting, smoky eyelashes veiling them.  
  
Her complexion was one of porcelain, pristine white that looked almost slick in the sunlight.  
  
Christian wasn't sure what to do.  
  
The girl smiled pleasantly.  
  
Christian, obligated by the rules of society that had been drummed into him for as long as he could remember, smiled back, albeit bewildered.  
  
The girl leaned forward on her heels. "I don't bite." she said candidly.  
  
This struck Christian and funny, and he burst out laughing.  
  
In the midst of his fit of laughter, he realized that this was the first time he had laughed in a long time.  
  
When he stopped, he noticed she was just looking at him. He gave her a look.  
  
She grinned. "I'm an artist. I study people. I find you interesting."  
  
Christian nodded. Block out all memories of anything like that.  
  
"What, you don't talk anymore? I heard you before." she taunted. "What, does the cat have your tongue?"  
  
Christian laughed again. "I haven't been asked that since I was seven." he said.  
  
She stuck her tongue out at him. "So, I'm juvenile. I'm allowed to be. So there."  
  
The girl looked at a little watch she had pinned on to her blouse.  
  
"Oh! I'm late! I have to go! I have to go home! Good-bye!" she said hurriedly. She lifted up her skirts and ran off down the paved path, scattering children at play.  
  
Christian stood there.  
  
He looked up at the sky. _Now, what purpose did that serve?_ He asked the upper deities.  
  
Shaking his head, he started back home, pondering over the mysterious girl.  
_  
No importance._ He told himself. _Mother'll have a whole list of girls waiting for me at 'The Party'.  
  
_~*~  
  
The party was in fill swing. Flowers had been arranged; sofas, chairs and tables re-arranged to accommodate the dancers; bedrooms designated for blushing females and their vestibules and maids. In the kitchen, salmon canapés and crackers with caviar were being prepared and set out on the shoulders of the countless valets Lily had hired for this event.  
  
Christian made his way up the stairs. Two girls, one in pink, on in olive, were walking down the stairs, chatting. The chitchat stopped the moment Christian was in view. Christian nodded to the two girls.  
  
"Good evening." he said evenly.  
  
The two girls burst into giggles and thundered down the stairs.  
  
Christian nodded and continued on his way.  
  
He went into his bedroom, shut the door, and locked it.  
  
He sighed. Safe at last.  
  
He had been introduced to countless people, women that were his mother's friends, their daughters, their aunts, their cousins, their cousin's mother's stepsister's aunt's daughter.  
  
His head was spinning with the names and faces of all the people there. More arrived by the minute. The verandah and gardens were filled, almost every bedroom with the exception of his parent's, his own, his brothers' and Annette's (a fraction of the number of bedrooms his house had) were filled with gossiping, giggling, primping debutantes who were spraying on perfume, pinching their cheeks and fixing their dresses on final time before greeting the rest of the party.  
  
Christian sat down. He had had enough of the party. Too many people. Glittering women, with their diamonds and rubies and emeralds; sapphires and pearls. The men, with their diamond cuff links and tie tacks, gold canes and emerald-studded dollar folds. Girls, with their clouds of perfumes and springs of flowers in their hair, their scented face powder and their silk sashes. Plump society matrons sitting on the settees set aside for just this reason, the younger ones such as Lily constantly hopping up and offering to get them refreshments.  
  
He had had enough of the vapid talk, the same narrow people. The people were boring. The talk was boring. The girls would not quit giggling.  
  
That was a thing Christian never understood about women. Why did they constantly titter? Why? Was there a reason? That and the group enigma. Why did women constantly flock together when they left? No single female ever left or came alone. Ever. It must be one of those great mystery things that no one would ever be able to solve.  
  
Christian ran his hand through his hair, mussing it. He sighed aloud. Who hadn't wanted this party? Oh, yeah- him.  
  
"I told her." he muttered.  
  
There was a tapping on the door. "Christian?"  
  
It was Annette.  
  
"Come in!" called Christian.  
  
She came in.  
  
"Hi." she said breathlessly, leaning back against the door.  
  
"Hi." he replied.  
  
Annette crossed the room to stand in front of him. "You are never going to guess what."  
  
"What?" Christian couldn't resist saying.  
  
"Papa's chatting with a gentleman in the library and it's in consideration of my betrothal!"  
  
Christian, shocked, gaped at his little sister. "Annie, do you even know who he's talking to?"  
  
Annette shook her head slowly, not quite understanding what he was getting at. "No."  
  
"So, Father could be marrying you off to a man his age and you wouldn't care? God, Annette! Where is your self-respect? How can you be so blasé about it? 'Oh, I might be married this time next year to a man I've never seen before in my life!'" he said, imitating her.  
  
Annette regarded him with big, fawn-like eyes. "Christian," she laughed, trying to lighten the truth. "You don't understand."  
  
Christian turned on his sister heatedly. "No, I don't. Explain it to me, Annette. Explain how girls can willingly be married off to men they don't love. Explain."  
  
Annette looking at him pityingly. "Christian, in the social scheme of things, our family is pretty high up. That's the only card I have to play. I'm nothing remarkable to look at- well, I'm not-" she said, when he started to open his mouth. "I'm not that bright and I'm not that obedient. The longer Mother and Papa wait to get me wed the less chance I have. Mama said that the man in the library is filthy rich and has a fabulous title."  
  
"Then why would he go after you?" asked Christian. Annette pouted. "Well, no offense, but if he's rich AND has a title, why would he go after you?"  
  
Annette shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe he's old. Maybe his breath smells."  
  
"And you don't care?" Christian interrupted.  
  
Annette continued."But he suggested it to Papa, so I'm crossing my fingers."  
  
They were both quiet for a moment.  
  
"You are pretty, Annie. And smart."  
  
Annette smirked. "I noticed your aversion of the word 'obedient'."  
  
"Well, I'm not going to lie to you."   
  
They both laughed.  
  
Annette held out her hand.   
  
"We should get downstairs. Mama will be cross if we disappear in the middle of her gala."  
  
Christian took it. "I know."  
  
They left his room and started down the stairs, discussing the hors d'oeuvres when Annette stopped suddenly.  
  
"Oh, my heavens."  
  
"What?" asked Christian, alarmed. Annette had turned pale and had tightened her grip on his hand. "What is it?"  
  
"They're here. Christian, they're here!"  
  
Christian looked at her as if to say 'Who?'  
  
"The Cousins! They're here!"  
  
Annette rushed to the railing, pulling Christian along.  
  
Just entering the house was a fresh-faced beauty. She has straight honey-colored hair and bright, innocent blue eyes. Her face had a rosy pallor, and she seemed effortlessly cheerful and delicate in her pale blue dress.  
  
"Jenny Hartsdale." breathed Annette. Jenny air-kissing some girls, chattering and giggling.   
  
Another girl entered the hall, looking much less perfect. "Polly." whispered Annette to Christian.  
  
Christian was in minor shock.  
  
Polly Wintershine was a lovely girl, her lovely moonlight skin complemented by her violet dress.  
  
Her luxurious black hair was pulled back with a silver clip, with a little silver bird preparing to take flight on it.  
  
A blush had been carefully dusted unto the apples of her cheeks.  
  
The most striking thing about her were her eyes. Unearthly pale blue, starred with lacy black lashes.  
  
The girl from the park.  
  
Annette turned to Christian, smiling. " They're real beauties, aren't they? But don't gape, you look like a codfish."  
  
Polly looked around. It was obvious she was not as popular as Jenny.  
  
She caught Christian's eye. A grin spread across her face, and she did a little curtsy.  
  
Christian made a little bow.  
  
An instant later, the whole party buzzed.  
  
"Christian, darling, wherever did you meet her?" asked Annette, clutching his elbow.  
  
"Polly, sweetness, how do you know dear Christian?" asked Polly's mother.  
  
Christian just grinned.  
  
As did Polly.  
  
Their secret was safe.  
  
  
  
  
Next: Someone from Christian's past appears- and it ain't a good thing, to say the least.  



	7. Scorn

Disclaimer: No, they don't belong to me. *sob* The pain.  
Claimer: Annette, Lily, Gregory, Thomas, Polly, Jenny, etc., are mine. If you want 'em, ask me. I'll most likely give 'em up.  
Author's note: *waves white flag* Wow ... it's been months. No one reading this, are they? *pout*  
  
  
Christian stood out on the verandah after dinner. It had been good. Long, but good. Long, boring chats with girls that had no brain to speak of. Sympathetic looks from Annette, on the other side of the table, but nothing too earth-shattering.  
  
He did notice, however, that two places were empty. He later found out from his mother that his father and 'the gentleman' were having dinner in the study.  
  
He inhaled a deep breath of the night air. Music wafted out of the house. Dancers were in there, and he knew would soon flood out here and into the gardens, so he treasured this time alone.  
  
He heard a rustle behind him, so he knew his time was over. He turned to face the person who dared to intrude on his solitude.  
  
"Well, hello, _mademoiselle artiste_."  
  
Polly grinned. "I don't know what you said, but keep talking. Sounds pretty."  
  
"It's French." Christian said.  
  
Polly shrugged. "Never took it. I learned Latin. _Et tu, Brute_?"  
  
Christian held his hands in surrender. "We're even then." He paused. "I didn't expect to see you here."  
  
Polly smiled. "Then imagine my surprise."  
  
"I just... I didn't think that the revolution had reached London yet." he stuttered.  
  
_That's it. Real slick, Christian. That's the way to get the girl._  
  
Christian didn't know if it was himself thinking or Satine invading his mind.  
  
Polly laughed softly. "I have heard of this revolution. Bohemian, yes?" Christian nodded. "I thought so. It's written across your face as plain as day."  
  
"You knew?" Christian added incredulously. How did Polly know he was a Bohemian Revolutionary if his mother's lie has so flawlessly glossed everything over?  
  
She shrugged lightly. "I guessed. The wisp-o'-the-will Christian up and disappears one day and then it turns out he just went on the world tour? Seriously doubtful, Christian. But, of course, no one dared to question Lily Andrews' word, so it doesn't matter if anyone bothered to think about anything other than perfume."  
  
Christian laughed. "You're funny, Miss Polly."  
  
She laughed and leaned back against the banister. "Please, just call me Polly. Oh, and glad to know you appreciate my humor. Hardly anyone does."  
  
The music abruptly stopped, and Christian heard a gong be rung.  
  
"What was that?" asked Polly, standing on tiptoe.  
  
Christian had a cold lump in the pit of his stomach. "I don't know," he said uneasily. He offered his arm, which Polly took, and sped to the house, from which his father's voice sounded.  
  
"...And I am happy to announce the engagement of my daughter, Annette, to the Duke of Worshire!"  
  
There was thunderous applause.  
  
It all came to Christian in bits and pieces:   
  
_Annette smiling.  
  
"Maybe his breath smells."   
  
"And you don't care?"   
  
More applause.  
  
His father's voice, echoing 'Engaged... engaged... engaged...'  
  
A grin... a nasal voice... a rat-like face...  
  
Satine's voice sounding "He could ruin everything."  
  
The Duke._  
  
  
Christian felt sick.  
  
_It isn't enough that he ruined my life,_ Christian thought dimly. _He has to come here and destroy me again. It'll never end, will it?_  
  
In the vague recesses of his mind, he felt Polly shaking his arm.  
  
"Christian? Are you alright? Christian?"  
  
He shook out of it, and with effort, removed the mental block from his view.  
  
And was faced with the image of his smiling, sweet, sixteen-year-old sister... on the Duke's arm.  
  
"Ah, there's the lad now." Jeremy was coming towards him. Christian tried to back away, but his feet refused to cooperate. Jeremy caught hold of him, dragging him to where Annette laughed gaily.  
  
The Duke turned in slow motion.   
  
The shock was apparent on his face.  
  
Christian felt nauseous. _I couldn't stand him before... and now he's going to be "one of the family"?  
  
Not if I can help it._  
  
The Duke just stared, as did Christian.  
  
Jeremy and Annette looked at one another, as if to say 'What?', the looked at both Christian and Duke.  
  
The Duke extended his hand with extreme caution and deliberation.  
  
Christian resisted the urge to a) spit at him or b) burst into hysterics. He knew neither would be accepted by anyone at this party.  
  
So he simply turned and fled.  
  
The whole party was abuzz the instant he moved. Dear, sweet Christian refused to accept his darling sister's fiancé? How scandalous!  
  
Christian stoically continued through his house, his memories threatening to choke him. He could feel them bubbling, straining to come to the surface. He fought them with all he had.  
  
He blindly stumbled up the stairs, clutching the banister for dear life.  
  
_Can't ... no ... mustn't think ... about ... it ... no ... must get to my room ... yes, that's it ... safety..._  
  
Christian managed to get into his room, continuing with his drunken steps to flop on to his bed. He clutched the cool pillow to his face, which felt as if it were on fire. He released a sob, but no tears came.  
  
His memories spilt out without further warning. He heard a snatch of Satine's laughter. A stolen kiss behind a curtain, hiding behind a door. Always for fear of the DUKE! It was always him! It was HIM who kept him from escaping with his beloved.  
  
Christian could not free the thought's grip on his soul. If only he had persuaded her to leave more forcefully. If only he had never let her leave. Maybe then, they could've left.  
  
The seed of doubt was planted. And Christian could not escape the smothering grasp of guilt, the vise that clenched his heart.  
  
Another sound came from the depths of his mind.  
  
A gasp.  
  
A cough, and gasping. Those terrible, rasping breaths.  
  
The image came all too clearly, not a detail omitted.  
  
The pain and fear in Satine's beautiful eyes; her already lily-white skin several shades paler; and that awful, chilling thread of crimson.  
  
Christian fought to suppress the image, attempting to regain control.  
  
Long after the image was erased from his memory he could still here those coughs.  
  
The door had been pounded upon for quite some time, a sound diluted by the noise inside Christian's mind.  
  
"Christian? Christian, let me in."  
  
A voice. Whose voice?  
  
"Christian?"  
  
Without waiting for an answering, Polly barged on in.  
  
Christian looked up at her, a tormented look on his face.  
  
Polly raised an eyebrow at him.  
  
"Hi." she said, flouncing down onto the bed next to him. "How are you?"  
  
Christian glared at her.  
  
"Not too good? Me neither. That Duke fellow-" Polly shuddered. "He certainly is a character. A scary one. Fabulously rich, though. The only thing that stopped him from going after me or- " a glare. "Jenny, was the fact that he knew he had no chance. No offense towards your family, Christian. Not much to look at, is he? I would never DREAM of being married to him. He's frightfully bad-looking. But, honestly, dear, wasn't it rather beastly of you to run from his horrid face? Remember, the ugly have feelings, too."  
  
Christian looked up at her with evil eyes. "Not him. He has no feeling." Polly raised her eyebrows again and gave him a look. Christian continued, unperturbed. "And who are you? What are you doing in my room? Not even my mother comes in my room. And you, I've known for three days, and that gives you permission to come into my room?"  
  
Polly raised her head, her dignity injured. "Your mother fainted from your impropriety, Annette is sobbing hysterically and refuses to be calmed, and your father is out for your blood." Polly tilted her head. "Oddly enough, the one who should be the most insulted finds the whole thing eminently hilarious."  
  
Christian scowled. "He would."  
  
"So ... why on earth did you flee like that? I only speak the truth when I say that that was not in the best of tastes, dear."  
  
"You wouldn't understand, Polly."  
  
"Try me." she dared, looking at him.  
  
Christian looked into those icy blue eyes. Looking into the intense orbs calmed him in an odd way.  
  
"I can't." he admitted.  
  
She looked at him oddly.  
  
"Maybe someday." he said, sounding a bit hopeless.  
  
Polly nodded in agreement. "Someday." She sighed. "All right. Well, whether or not I know the reason for your flight, it matters a frightfully small bit if anything at all. You have to get downstairs."  
  
Christian looked at her with shock. "I can't go back out there."  
  
"You can't _not_ go back out there." Polly said forcefully. "If you don't go back out there now, you'll never be able to hold your head up again."  
  
"I don't care."  
  
"You do too. Now, come along. Give me your hand, that's a good boy."  
  
Christian studied her. "You're not like most girls."  
  
Polly tossed her head. "Am I that obvious? Oh well, may the truth be told, you're not like most gentlemen. Now, come on, I'm sure everyone's gossiping horribly."  
  
As the went down the stairs, a thought made it's presence known to Polly. "Christian, you do realize what your actions mean, do you not?"  
  
Christian rolled his eyes. "That I've soiled my family's good name?"  
  
"No- that you'll have to duel with the Duke."  
  
Christian's jaw dropped. "What?!" he exclaimed.  
  
Polly's brow furrowed. "I'm afraid so. You shamed him, and everyone knows with the consent of the oldest brother no respectable family marries off their daughter. The only way to redeem your sister's name and show why you're protecting her is to have a duel."  
  
"Will you please excuse me? I'm going to go jump out the window."  
  
Polly gripped his arm. "This is no time to act like a coward, Christian. Not only Annette's name is at stake here, but yours, and both brother's. And if you ever want to be hold your head high in any respectable social circles with the name 'Christian Andrews' for the remainder of your life, you will have a duel!" Polly suddenly looked irritated. "And now look what you've gone and done. I sound like my mother."  
  
~*~  
  
Annette sat daintily on a settee, a lacy handkerchief dabbing at her eyes. Her shoulders heaved with sobs, hiccupping.  
  
All her friends surrounded her, offering words of comfort, to bring her a little cake, some peppermint ice cream, a fresh hankie?  
  
The Duke stood to one side, shaking his head. Women. So prone to tears.  
  
He couldn't stand tears. Why waste the energy crying when you can change it? And if you can't change it the nice way, you change it the dirty way.   
  
Which was any way you can.  
  
With either procedure, you get your way. And that was all that was important.  
  
The Duke pondered over his misfortune. As much as he hated to admit it, having that simpering Christian around was going to impede on this whole procedure.  
  
The Duke needed a wife.   
  
Not that he would give up his fun- his visits to whorehouses were far from over. Best marry and leave her at home.  
  
But, the Duke knew that Jeremy Andrews was not a man who would allow his daughter to marry a man who let it be public knowledge that he visited nightclubs. God knew that Jeremy visited them, but he didn't advertise it, and the only people who knew where his male friends who accompanied him and his wife.  
  
Of course, thought the Duke with a smirk, it would take an _awful_ lot of talking to explain exactly how simpletonknew that he went there, but he had a bad feeling that Christian was beyond caring what happened to him.  
  
It was an unsettling thought. Would Christian be gentlemanly enough to leave it in the past? Of course not. What kind of a stupid question is that?  
  
The Duke knew, with a deep, heavy feeling the pit of his stomach, that Christian would sacrifice everything he had to destroy him.  
  
~*~  
  
"I can't do it, Polly. He'll kill me." Christian sputtered nervously. He heard a sharp voice in his mind.   
  
_Baby._  
  
"Nonsense." Polly said, waving her hand. "You're younger and quicker than that old geezer is."  
  
Christian snorted. "You think _he'll_ fight? Oh, no, Polly. He'll make someone else fight for him."  
  
"At pistols? Not if he's a gentleman. Everyone knows the one challenged must fight."  
  
"He thinks he's above the rules."  
  
"Then you must bring him down to earth."  
  
Somehow, during her speaking, she had led him down the stairs. Now, he was just outside the parlor.  
  
In the parlor, Annette looked up with glistening eyes. "Christie?" she whimpered pitifully, before dissolving into tears once again. Jenny Hartsdale patted her back and embraced her.  
  
Polly made her escape quietly.  
  
The Duke rolled his eyes and left the parlor, preferring the verandah to the vapors of his fiancée.  
  
Christian knelt by his sister. Everyone around them crept closer to listen. "Dearest, I have my reasons. I am not being cruel to you, Annette darling, I'm doing this because I love you."  
  
"How could you be so hateful?" Annette sobbed.  
  
"I'm not doing this out of spite of you, I swear. It's because- oh, Annette, please stop crying. I'll tell you everything later." The crowd stepped back in disappointment.  
  
A cry sounded through the hall, and a sobbing Polly ran in, straight into her mother's arms. "Mama!" she cried. "Mama, Mama, something terrible's happened!"  
  
"What is it, darling?"  
  
Jenny was up in an instant. "Dearest, what happened? Oh, tell me!"  
  
"That horrid, horrid man took advantage of me in the hall!"  
  
Like a rat, the Duke came at the commotion. Polly let out a shriek. "Him! That ghastly creature over there!"  
  
Jenny turned on him. "You wicked thing! How could you?" Jenny took her cousin into her arms. "How could you do such a thing, you- you-"  
  
The Duke rolled his eyes. "Miss Hartsdale, I assure you, I did nothing of the sort-"  
  
Lawrence Hartsdale stepped forward menacingly. "Sir, are you calling my sister a liar?"  
  
A ripple of shock went through the crowd.  
  
"Do you, sir, presume to call not only my sister and cousin a liar, but to say a woman is telling tales?"  
  
The Duke looked slightly flustered.  
  
Polly looked right at Christian with shining eyes. She winked at him, and motioned with her head.   
  
_Challenge him_, came the voice.  
  
Christian stood up in outrage. "You, sir, are not a gentleman and do not deserve my sister's hand. I challenge you, for the good name of my sister, Miss Hartsdale, and Miss Wintershine, to pistols."  
  
Everyone, from little Susie Jenkins, the youngest girl at the party, to old Mrs. Lincolnshire, gasped. Pistols?  
  
The Duke looked shocked, but gathered his composure rather quickly.   
  
"Pistols," he sniveled, "at dawn."  
  
  
Author's note: Does anyone know/ remember what the Duke was the duke of? I sure don't. So, I put Worshire, but if it's something else can you put in the review or email it to me at Albanygrace@aol.com or something? I'd hate to repeatedly make the same mistake over and over again. :-) gracias,   
-Sugar  
  
  



End file.
